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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267943">Melodrama</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyhotch/pseuds/happyhotch'>happyhotch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Behavioral Analysis Unit, F/M, FBI, Jeid, Spencer Reid - Freeform, aj cook - Freeform, bau, criminal minds - Freeform, jennifer jareau - Freeform, matthew gray gubler - Freeform, mgg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:42:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,353</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27267943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyhotch/pseuds/happyhotch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She can't hear the question "Truth or dare?" without flinching, and he can't go into jewelry stores anymore. And while that's fine for a while, the two can't help but feel like things are different now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jennifer "JJ" Jareau &amp; Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/William LaMontagne Jr.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hello! This is not my first fic, but it is my first CM one! I'm not even a Jeid shipper that much, but I literally cannot get passed the Jeid love confession, so I had to write this for my own sanity.</p><p>You may know me from my other socials, @/happyhotch on Instagram or Tiktok. Check me out on there if you haven't.</p><p>Read this while you listen to Melodrama by Lorde. This story is heavily influenced by the lyrics I've heard in her songs.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"In my head I do everything right." - Lorde, "Supercut"</p><p>He almost dies.</p><p>It isn't the first time, and it probably won't be the last. She thought it would eventually start to desensitize her.</p><p>It doesn't.</p><p>When she finds him sprawled out on his living room floor with a bloodied nose, the feeling of dread coats her like a blanket. The panic rises and claws its way up her throat and out in gasping breaths. It settles in as an upset stomach. She can vaguely hear Penelope's anxious chatter into the receiver, but she more focuses on the useless words coming out of her own mouth because it's not like he can even hear her. She laces her fingers with his and he does not reciprocate. She thinks he may be dead. She has to focus on not throwing up.</p><p>She is unsure how much time has passed when the EMTs pick him up and put him onto the stretcher. The only thing she can remember is the feeling of their hands being tugged apart. She does not want to leave him.</p><p>~</p><p>She has to go back to the bullpen. Penelope promises her in a broken whisper that she'd stay with him. She believes her.</p><p>She tries to add to whatever the team is saying. She hopes she nods and shakes her head at the correct times. Truth is, she doesn't hear a word any of them are saying. Something about Everett Lynch, she can gather based on the case file ahead of her. She is worried she won't be able to focus at the time of the take down. It might get her killed. Better her than him. </p><p>~</p><p>The time spins by in hours and she thinks she's looked at the clock at least 28 times since she arrived onto the 6th floor.</p><p>She hasn't contributed anything to the profile. She is useless to the team. She misses the curious and apologetic glances they give her.</p><p>She is staring blankly at the files in front of her as she reads over Penelope's message. No news yet, it says. The sickly feeling makes her stomach feel heavy with lead. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth. Her throat is dry and scratchy and she thinks not enough water in the world would take away her dehydration.</p><p>She wonders what he's dreaming about. Or if he's dreaming at all. Or if he's dead. She wonders if he sees the "light at the end of the tunnel". She wonders if he's already followed Maeve or Gideon or if he's still standing there, basking in the light.</p><p>She is curious what his reasons were to stay alive and what his reasons were to give up the fight. She hesitates when she thinks about what side she is on.</p><p>~</p><p>She isn't sure how but they track him down. She is barely a part of the take down. She isn't mad about it.</p><p>She receives Penelope's call and she immediately redirects the car. She feels better, lighter, but she won't be satisfied until she sees him. She drives 20 over the speed limit with the help of her flashing lights. Luke thinks she'll definitely wreck the car before they even make it to Bethesda General. Emily hangs onto the handle in the backseat. </p><p>They get there faster than Rossi's car. She practically runs to the check in. The nurse hastily gives her the room number after a flash of her badge. She is exhausted when she reaches the elevator. She doesn't bother holding the doors for Luke or Emily and she doesn't even bother taking off her Kevlar. The elevator can't rise fast enough.</p><p>The sigh of relief that drops out of her mouth makes her dizzy as she sees him sitting up in his bed, tucking into a plastic cup of Jello. Her heart might pound out of her chest.</p><p>She pads into the room and perches herself on the foot of his bed. He doesn't look surprised to see her. He discards the plastic onto the table and when she intertwines her fingers with his, this time he squeezes back.</p><p>Something changes between them that day.</p><p>"Well, I can't describe her exactly -- except to say she was beautiful. She was -- tremendously alive." - F. Scott Fitzgerald, "The Echoes of the Jazz Age Collection: The Beautiful and Damned, Winter Dreams, The Great Gatsby, Babylon Revisited, The Diamond as Big as the Ritz and many more"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>**TW: mentions of suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So I guess I'll go home / Into the arms of the girl that I love / The only love I haven't screwed up / She's so hard to please / But she's a forest fire / I do my best to meet her demands / Play at romance, we slow dance / In the living room, but all that a stranger would see / Is one girl swaying alone / Stroking her cheek." - Lorde, "Liability"</p><p>~</p><p>He knows, realistically, nothing will change between them.</p><p>But that doesn't mean he doesn't dream about it for a few fleeting seconds every once in a while. He catches himself before he gets in too deep, but for a split second it feels so real to him. Like it's in arms reach. But then he stops, and that domestic bliss he visualizes flies away into the world around him. He wonders if he'll snap one day.</p><p>There's too much that goes unspoken between them. They were good at hiding it, for a while, but the team starts to pick up on the obvious tension between the pair. He feels guilty, because he feels like he's hiding. He dodges her calls and cancels his meetings with Henry and Michael. He's doing exactly what he didn't want to do: effect his godsons. But he thinks the breakfasts, park dates, and museum outings might hurt his soul too much. So he stays at home.</p><p>~</p><p>He turns 40 the next week. The team gets him a cake and when he blows out the candles, he wonders how his life got away from him. He's been kidnapped, tortured, and shot. He's a godfather. He fell in love. His mentor died. His girlfriend died. His mother is even more sick than she used to be. He's a part time professor now. He's an addict. </p><p>But a lot hasn't changed. He works on the sixth floor. Garcia is still his best friend. He still writes his mother a letter everyday. He still lives in apartment 15. He still drives his ancient car. He still travels around the country and catches serial killers for a living. He still loves the Bureau, the BAU, and his team. He still has bags under his eyes. He still puts 3 sugars in his coffee.</p><p>He read an article once about The Average 40-Year-Old. 7 out of 10 have kids and 6 out of 10 have pets. 5 out of 10 own a house. He is this data's anomaly. </p><p>She comes and sits on the corner of his desk, something out of habit. She'd commented once that he needed to clear some of the books off his desk so she had room when she comes over to talk to him, and the next day, in passing, she notices the corner is free of paper.</p><p>He smiles up at her. </p><p>"Happy birthday," she whispers down at him.</p><p>The smile waivers, but doesn't fade. </p><p>"Henry and Michael miss you," she adds.</p><p>He's too old to pretend to feel someway for someone else's benefit. So he calls it as he sees it.</p><p>"Sorry," he says. "I've just been sorting some things out."</p><p>She nods with understanding but lacks any vigor. A light goes out in her eyes.</p><p>~</p><p>He wants to do something. He really does. But he knows he never will, so he takes it in stride.</p><p>He breaks up with Max.</p><p>"I'm sorry," he says. "I know you went through hell and I am so sorry."</p><p>Her eyes widen a little bit as she reads the situation. He shrinks back into himself, just a little bit, before pressing on.</p><p>"It's not fair to you that I can't commit myself to you fully," he comments, offhandedly. "It's not fair to you that I love someone else." </p><p>Her eyes well up a little and he can't help the fact that he doesn't really even feel bad. He didn't see a future between them and honestly, he was a little surprised that she had. It felt like temporary happiness to him. Like it was fine for a while, but after a minute he would need more.</p><p>So she slips on her shoes and leaves and doesn't look back. He can't say he blames her.</p><p>~</p><p>"We had a falling out," was all he says when Penelope comes clacking up to him. He is prepared for the bombardment of questions as he appears in the office, tie slightly more crooked than usual, pants crinkled because they are two days old, and both shoelaces untied.</p><p>He would give her the benefit of the doubt. She is Penelope after all. His best friend. He could at least tell her he broke up with his girlfriend. Since he couldn't really tell her anything else that was going on in his life.</p><p>Her going away party is tonight and he finds himself starting to shut in. He is unfamiliar with what work will look like without her. He feels a sudden urge to tell her about everything that has happened in the past year. It has been weighing so heavily on him that he is worried he will crumble under its weight. So follows her into her bat cave and he does.</p><p>~</p><p>Penelope wants to smile by the end of his story, and he could tell, but she does her best to suppress it for his benefit. He appreciates it. </p><p>She doesn't give advice because he doesn't ask for any. She just sits, listens, and pats his shoulder for reassurance. She always thought they'd be great together anyway.</p><p>So that's how they spend her last day on the sixth floor, and Penelope couldn't have thought of a better way. </p><p>~</p><p>He arrives home after spending a day successfully avoiding her in the office. </p><p>He reflects. He thinks about the time she beat him at gin and then again 12 years later in poker. He remembers the relief he feels when he sees her still alive and breathing after Hankel. He remembers her smile when she names him godfather, twice. He remembers the way she cried when she told him about the miscarriage. He remembers the way he felt when he saw her in the hospital after the car crash that killed Stephen. He remembers her face when the gun is pointed at her head and the words come tumbling out of her mouth. </p><p>He knows he needs a change. He can't just keep fantasizing about a life together. He's either going to have to squelch it down until it is unheard of ever again or face the situation head on.</p><p>His head swims with unknowns. He is not a man of unknowns. When you have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, there simply isn't any room for unknowns. He can present any obscure fact for any problem. Well, except this one, apparently.</p><p>He doesn't know how to act. He thinks about Dilaudid. He tries to count the hours of sleep he's gotten in the last week, but the number can fit on one hand. He thinks about one night stands, but he's never been the party type. He thinks about taking up smoking, but that is too dramatic for his taste. He thinks about drinking, but with drinking comes unwanted thoughts about Dilaudid, and he's right back at square one.</p><p>He briefly, briefly, thinks about suicide. He rolls up his sleeves and thumbs the cuts that remain from his college days. The thought is gone as quickly as it appeared.</p><p>The truth is, he isn't even sad, or upset, or angry. He has no reason to commit all of these intruding acts. He just feels endlessly frustrated by the lifeline he has been given, because he can see it: he knows it is there, and when he sticks his arm out to grab it, his fingers brush against it and it gets pushed further away. It feels like never-ending drowning.</p><p>He sits in the dark.</p><p>~</p><p>"With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?" - Oscar Wilde</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Frostie in Featured, L. (2016, June 17). This Is The Average 40-Year-Old. Retrieved November 06, 2020, from https://www.frostmagazine.com/2016/06/this-is-the-average-40-year-old/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave." - Hozier, "Nobody"</p><p>~</p><p>She wasn't ready to give up Penelope.</p><p>She'd gone through a lot of changes recently, and they were catching up to her. She still has a little bit of trauma left over from the jewelry store incident, a large scar on her left side from Grace Lynch's bullet, a job offer waiting in New Orleans, a love confession looming, and he has almost died more times than she can count on one hand.</p><p>But other than that, life was normal for her. Henry is starting middle school this year and Michael is starting kindergarten. Will still works nights and she can't remember the last time they shared the same bed together. She turns 42 this year and she marks her 15th year with the BAU.</p><p>But if anything stayed consistent in those 15 years, it was him and Penelope. And since her relationship with him is still hanging in the air, she needs to have Penelope to rely on.</p><p>But she gets ready for Penelope's going away party anyway, because if this is what Penelope wants, she'll put on a nice outfit, drink too much and force a smile on her face. Good thing Penelope isn't a profiler.</p><p>~</p><p>She asks Will to come, not expecting him to take her up on the offer. Not because he doesn't like Penelope, or the team, but because they don't seem to be doing much together anymore. If the both of them are invited to an event, usually one shows up and excuses the other party with a work-related excuse. They barely live together anymore, with her living out of her go-bag in hotel rooms and him living in his Kevlar vest in his squad car. She wonders if anyone notices, but even before they started having to find excuses not to be together for longer than an hour, they were so busy with work they didn't frequent together anyway. </p><p>He accepts and her eyebrows shoot to her hairline. He just shrugs.</p><p>"I'm trying," he relents.</p><p>She doesn't need further explanation, just offers him a weak, albeit comfortable smile. It's easy. It's natural.</p><p>~</p><p>They arrive together first and of course Rossi has gone all out. An admirable trait of the man. As more of the team and some extras arrive, no one seems to be surprised the pair is together. They must be better at concealing their home life than they thought.</p><p>There are drinks, tears, and lots of dancing as the night gets darker and the music gets louder. </p><p>Will excuses himself to relieve the sitter. He asks her if she wants to stay, and she nods and tells him she'll grab an Uber. He gives her a quick glance, and he bids himself goodbye to the party patrons, extending his congrats to Penelope. She listens as he makes it known that she is welcome to come to their home to visit her godsons any time she'd like. Penelope jokes she'd only come to see them anyway. She holds her breath as Will makes his way over to him. The goodbye is long and she gets so anxious she actively bites her nails. It ends with a handshake and a look from him and Will in her direction. She averts her gaze and turns and makes her way over to Tara and Emily on the dance floor.</p><p>~</p><p>She takes way too many tequila shots. She giggles as Emily and Tara mockingly slow dance together. Rossi and Krystall are already on the floor, followed by Penelope and Luke. She peers suspiciously at them. Grabbing Tara and Emily's attention, she waves a finger accusingly at the pair.</p><p>"What the fuck?" Tara exclaims, speech slurred and eyes blinking slow. Emily just laughs like she knows something and the pair go back to stepping on each other's feet and drunken giggles.</p><p>She slams another tequila shot with Matt as he bids her a goodbye.</p><p>"My children call," he responds to her frown. She nearly snorts, as she too could relate, except Matt's got her beat by a way larger margin. Kristy smiles politely at her and the two head off.</p><p>She turns on the floor slowly, eyes tracking slowly behind the speed of her body. She's missing someone, she can feel it. </p><p>And then she spots him, examining Rossi's music collection. She walks purposefully up to him and nearly takes out a table on her way up the deck. She stands behind him as his hands run over the covers of the records.</p><p>Bob Dylan. Crosby, Stills, Nash, &amp; Young. Dire Straits. Electric Light Orchestra. Elton John. Fleetwood Mac. Foghat. Grand Funk Railroad. The Kinks. Neil Young. Supertramp. The Who. Yes.</p><p>Her head swims as he flips through the vinyls at record speed. </p><p>He finally settles on The Rolling Stones. Goats Head Soup. Angie.</p><p>"Do you want to dance?" She's offering him an olive branch. A truce, if you will. He hesitates but she doesn't back down. He looks pained as he takes her hand and she, stumbling, leads him to the dance floor. He gathers her hand in his and the other remains on her back. </p><p>They sway.</p><p>It's off-rhythm, but she doesn't care because all she does care about is that her head is on his chest and she can hear his heartbeat. She missed him even though he didn't go anywhere. She wonders if he feels the same way.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says as she swallows around the guilt. "You didn't deserve that."</p><p>He remains quiet so she pushes forward.</p><p>"It's not how I wanted it to happen." She purposely avoids using the word "regret". Because she doesn't regret anything besides the situation at hand. He must notice, because she swears she can feel his heartbeat quicken.</p><p>"Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can feel the metal of the gun on my forehead." She's rambling now, not aware of the words coming out of her mouth. But he is. He stiffens slightly and moves his hands to her forearms to gently push her off of him.</p><p>"Why didn't you say anything? PTSD isn't something to just brush off."</p><p>"It didn't seem important, all things considering." She shrugs in her inebriated state. </p><p>He gets that. Between her GSW, his TBI, Emily's potential impending promotion, Matt's new baby, and everything else the BAU has been handed this year already, he understands the feeling of not being a priority. But he also understands the effects of untreated PTSD, being a scholar and a survivor of it.</p><p>He starts to say something but she cuts him off quickly. "It isn't because I'm scared," she rushes out. He looks her up and down and blinks. "It just reminds me of the day that I messed up and lost you."</p><p>They stare at each other for a minute that feels like ten. "You didn't lose me."</p><p>"I did," she affirms. "You don't come around as much anymore. I get it, I do. I messed with your life and now you have to reap the consequences. I get it if you are mad at me. What I did costed me our friendship." </p><p>He doesn't know what to say to that, so he does something that even if she was sober she wouldn't have ever predicted. He spins her gently in a circle before resuming their earlier position. The gesture is sweet, but she has to focus on not throwing up after the spin. </p><p>"I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I still want a relationship with you. And the boys. I miss seeing them," he admits. She's satisfied enough with that answer.</p><p>They move together as one for a while. Angie ends.</p><p>~</p><p>"...he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same." - Emily Brontë, "Wuthering Heights"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"But you're not what you thought you were." - Lorde, "Liability (Reprise)"</p><p>~</p><p>He gives her a ride home. </p><p>He has to. She's three sheets to the wind by the time the party ends and it is not in his good conscious to just let her hop into a car with a stranger in her obvious very inebriated state.</p><p>She's crying already when she reaches his car. He doesn't ask her what's wrong, or if she's okay, because it doesn't take a genius to figure out the answers to those questions. He just lets her cry it out while he takes the memorized path to her home.</p><p>She quiets after a while, and no words are shared between the pair. His eyes just focus on the road, and her's the passenger window. Neither one of them spare the other a glance. The only sounds are her stifled breathing and Mozart.</p><p>~</p><p>His breaks squeal as he approaches her driveway. He cuts the engine and turns to look at her for the first time since they left the party, only to find her asleep.</p><p>His brain makes quick work of memorizing the lines of her face in the yellow of her porch light. Sunken cheekbones, long lashes, halo of blonde hair. </p><p>He was so, irrevocably, totally, beautifully in love with her. </p><p>He settles into his seat as he thinks. He remembers how immersed in darkness he had felt for most of his life. He tries not to think about how guilty she felt when he struggled with addiction and coped with his friend's death and the sadness, distress, and worry he felt when she was stationed in the Middle East.</p><p>He wanted, most of his adult life, to give himself to her. He didn't want to be with anyone else until Maeve came around. And just as quickly as Maeve came, she was gone, and he was back to wanting her to have him. And while she didn't accept it, she did give him something in return; a set of godsons he loved more than the night sky. </p><p>If he wasn't so scientific, he would say that her family made the Earth rotate and spin on its axis. They were so bright, blonde, and full of life and he craved, so badly, to be a part of it. </p><p>But instead, he watched from a distance.</p><p>And for that reason, he didn't say it back. He never even thought he would have the opportunity to, and when it came, the words got stuck in his throat and he choked on his tongue.</p><p>He shakes her gently and she stirs. "We're here."</p><p>The whisper lulls her out of her slumber and she blinks sleepily and he feels his heart drop into his stomach and he gets a funny taste in his mouth. It tastes like guilt and impending disaster.</p><p>Her speech is still slurred when she thanks him for the ride and stumbles out of his car.</p><p>He watches her fumble with the lock on the door until she tumbles inside. And then she watches him drive away.</p><p>~</p><p>"I don't do anything with myself except romanticize and decay with indecision." - Allen Ginsberg, "The Book of Martyrdom and Artifice"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is mostly a filler chapter! important chapter up next!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ok you may want to go back and re-read the last few chapters because I posted them in the wrong order LOL so for this to make sense I recommend that!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"If you hold me without hurting me / You'll be the first who ever did." - Lana Del Rey, "Cinnamon Girl"</p><p>~</p><p>"So, were you ever goin' to tell me?"</p><p>She blinks. She was too busy trying to be quiet upon entering the silent house she didn't even realize the kitchen light was on and there was a figure sitting on a barstool.</p><p>"Huh?" She's still intoxicated, but she'd classify it as "tipsy" instead of the previous "obliterated." </p><p>"About New Orleans." She sucks in a breath. "I thought we had an agreement."</p><p>She tries to make a beeline to the kitchen, but Will is already walking towards her. She stays put.</p><p>"How do you know?" She found herself asking.</p><p>"One of my buddies from NOPD called. Said she heard through the grape vine. Asked if you were considerin' the position. Imagine my stupidity when I had to ask her what she was talkin' 'bout."</p><p>She knows she should've told Will, but she couldn't find the correct time and ended up rejecting the position before consulting with him. And she can't even be mad at his anger, because he was right: they did have an agreement. On a trip down to Louisiana, she had put her name down to lead the New Orleans field office. When she told Will, he was so excited that he made her promise if she got the position that they would move down there so he could go back to his NOPD roots. She, never thinking she'd be offered the position, agreed, and that one promise might be the only thing currently holding their marriage together.</p><p>Except she broke it. And then didn't tell him she broke it.</p><p>Will had never been comfortable in Washington. He never truly felt settled, but pushed it away as a sacrifice to be with her and his two sons. But it didn't take a profiler to see his obvious discontent with living in DC and being part of Metro working nights. </p><p>"I'm sorry," she whispers into the dark. "Emily was going to get that promotion, and I didn't even think they would consider me for the position. And our sons are settled in here. But trust me, I didn't take the decision lightly. I wanted to consult with you, but I see you, what, 3 hours a week? It's not a text conversation to have."</p><p>"I'd rather have a text conversation than to not talk 'bout it at all!" When you have kids, you master the art of whisper-shouting. Will is putting his skills to good use.</p><p>She doesn't have a reply to that, because he's right. She just lets silent, hot tears roll down her face. Will softens a bit when he looks at her.</p><p>He puts his hands on her face. "Is this what you want, your home here, in DC?"</p><p>She nods her response.</p><p>He continues. "So much, that you won't even consider a future with me outside of here?"</p><p>She screws up her face to try to stop the tears. "Will, I don't think we work anymore. And I don't think moving to Louisiana will solve that problem. It wouldn't be a fresh start, no matter what you think. I'd still work crazy hours and you might still work nights. I just don't think New Orleans is the solution."</p><p>He wipes her tears away. "If that is what you want, that's fine. But it isn't what I want. I've waited years for this opportunity and you just swept it under the rug without so much as even a mention."</p><p>Her heart hurts a little bit. "I'm so sorry." She is actively sobbing now.</p><p>"You once told me "only the truth from now on", and for that reason we need to be brutally honest with each other," he says. She cries out at the repressed memory and the break in Will's voice. "I need to tell you then. Look at me."</p><p>He brings her chin up and her eyes meet his. "I love you," he starts.</p><p>"I love you, too," she rushes out before he can say the inevitable "but."</p><p>"But" - there it is - "I'm not in love with you. Not like before, when we were happy and in a healthy marriage. And I wouldn't say this to you if didn't suspect you felt the same," he finishes.</p><p>She just stares at him with relief written on her face. That phrase - "I love you, but I'm not in love with you" - has been weighing on the tip of her tongue for longer than she's cared to admit. And he did her a favor by saying it for her. So she nods up at him.</p><p>"It's okay," he says as she starts to breathe a little easier. "I'm not mad. Quite honestly, I'm happy. Honey, we can move past this together. We're both in it together, we can co-parent and we'll still be civil. Sure, there are some kinks to work out along the way, but it will all be okay."</p><p>The feeling of what she could only describe as emotional exhaustion had crept its way into her bones from the minute the conversation had started, and she was feeling its full effect now.</p><p>He reads her easily. "We can talk about this later."</p><p>She thanks him, and he offers to take the couch while they work themselves into this transition.</p><p>"No, it's okay. I think we should talk to the boys before they notice one of us sleeping on the couch. Henry is very observant these days, he would know if something is up."</p><p>Will shrugs in response. "Okay, so then what?"</p><p>"I'll go stay at Emily's."</p><p>"Are you sure?"</p><p>"Yeah," she gives him a small smile. "Don't worry."</p><p>"Do you want me to drive you?"</p><p>"No, just stay here with the boys. I'm fine to drive." It's the truth: the emotionally destroyed conversation sobered her up. He gives her an once over, obviously worried. "I'm okay."</p><p>"Okay."</p><p>So she gets into the car and doesn't drive to Emily's. She instead picks a path she knows far better.</p><p>~</p><p>She knows it is way late when she knocks on his door but she knows he's awake. She knows him like the back of her hand.</p><p>So she's not at all surprised when she can hear his slipper-clad feet shuffling towards the door and when he pulls it open she studies the surprised reaction on his face.</p><p>"You shouldn't open your door without checking the peephole first. Especially at," she glances down at her watch, "3:57 AM."</p><p>"I did check," he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just didn't believe it was actually you." He observes her tear tracks and look of defeat, but also notes she's stone cold sober. He becomes more alert. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"</p><p>"No," she affirms. "No, I'm fine."</p><p>"Well, can I ask why you're awake and at my door step at 4 in the morning?" She looks at him and he can see the hurt in her eyes. "Seriously, what's wrong? You can tell me, I'm not going to judge you."</p><p>"I think Will and I just agreed to get a divorce," she finally says after moments of hesitation.</p><p>His eyebrows disappear under his curly mop of brown hair. "What?"</p><p>She goes over the conversation again, but no tears this time. He just stares at her and she feels herself start to break down under his gaze.</p><p>And then she cracks and crumbles in the doorway of his apartment.</p><p>For once in his life, he doesn't know what to say. So instead, he takes a lesson from her and does for her what she does for him when he is broken: he just holds her.</p><p>~</p><p>"Mother says there are locked rooms inside of all women; kitchen of lust / bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. / Sometimes the men -- they come with keys, / and sometimes, the men -- they come with hammers." - Warsan Shire, "The House"</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>if you think that this is happening too fast, remember that they've spent 15 years suppressing their emotions for each other that they are destined to explode.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"You fucked me so good that I almost said, "I love you."" - Lana Del Rey, "Norman Fucking Rockwell"</p><p>~</p><p>He ushers her into the apartment and sits with her on the couch. He holds her hands in his and supports her head that's laying on his shoulder. He can feel the wetness of her cheeks and the water that has stained his shirt. But he doesn't interrupt her, or shush her, he just waits until she is able to calm herself down.</p><p>"I'm sorry," she says as she sniffles and pulls herself away from him. He just grasps the side of her head and pulls her back down into him. She may know him like the back of her hand, but he might know her even better. And with that comes the moments of obvious need; the moments where she looks like she doesn't know where to go or who she is, and in those moments, he knows where he belongs and exactly how to ground her.</p><p>Maybe it comes from his love for her, or the friendship they've built from the ground up, or all the traumatic experiences they've shared. Perhaps it doesn't matter where it came from, maybe it only matters that it exists in the first place.</p><p>She allows herself to ease into him, and she fits like she belongs there for the rest of her life. He notices the way the two melt together, flat backs against the old couch cushions and hands clasped so tight that they'll probably hurt when they come apart. Love radiates off the pair so bright you might be able to see it if you look hard enough.</p><p>Her breathing is back to normal, his shirt is dry, and it's dark and quiet in his apartment. It's nearing 5, but both would be too restless to sleep anyway. The only thing the pair can even think about it their love for the other.</p><p>He's got an unfair advantage and he knows it, because he never said it back to her. He thinks maybe she knows anyway, regardless of his silence, but he can't be sure.</p><p>He is a man of science. And math. And history, and music, and art. But never once would he classify himself as a man of romance. He knew a lot about it, sure. Romance languages, romance movies, romance books. But he never executed his knowledge, because his whole life he swallowed his feelings down. Feelings for Lila, because Gideon said he looked 14 years old and he hated looking at himself on the cover of that magazine. Feelings for Maeve, because her life was in danger and he should've suppressed them even further because it really was his fault she was gone. And now, these feelings for her were threatening to explode out of him, like he was a shaken up beer can and the minute the tab is popped the liquid overflows. Feelings pent up from years of disinterest. He allowed himself one blissful year, over 15 years ago, to love her. The next year, while he was shooting up, she was loving someone else. </p><p>Would it be taking advantage of her emotional state if he told her now? Or would it make her feel better? He really needs to read more books on women.</p><p>"Say it," she says into his neck. Is this woman a mind reader?</p><p>"Say what?" he whispers back.</p><p>"Please," is all she says.</p><p>"I love you," he breathes.</p><p>"You love me. God knows I love you." And with that, she pushes herself up onto him and presses her lips to his. His eyes widen, because it is very morally and ethically wrong to be kissing her. She's technically still married, and he's a godparent to her sons. But God, does he want it so bad. So he kisses her back.</p><p>It's not soft or sweet; it's hot, messy, breathless, and fast. It tastes like home. It's making up for all of those years of stolen glances and loving from afar. His hands are on her face and her's around his back. It's rough, but in a loving way, where they feel like they cannot possibly feel every inch of the other.</p><p>In this room, it's just him and her in their highest regard. She is not a divorcee. He is not an addict.</p><p>No one exists to them outside of this room. The lights are off in the nearby buildings, the horns on the taxis are silent, there are no people walking the street. It's just her on his lap and his tongue in her mouth. </p><p>They break apart and they are basically wheezing for air.</p><p>She's the first one to speak. "I want more."</p><p>He looks at her. "Are you positive?"</p><p>"Yes," she says simply, eyes boring into his. She tries to convey how much she wants it without words, and he picks up on it as quickly as she puts it down. He picks her up, reattaches his lips, and leads her down the hall.</p><p>He sets her on the bed and she pulls him down to her. But the kisses have softened, slower and deeper. Once they got over the initial shock of "oh, okay, we're doing this," they realized they want to savor this. </p><p>She makes the first move and reaches to pull the string of his pajama pants loose. They fall around his ankles and she presses her body to his as if she could get any closer. </p><p>No words are shared as they move in sync. It's like they've been together for years, his boxer-clad hips moving against her clothed ones.</p><p>"I love you," he mutters against her mouth.</p><p>"I know," she replies back, breaking the kiss and pulling her shirt over her head. He traces the lines of her bra with his finger as his mouth works his way down to her chest. Her hands tangle in his hair and she pushes his head further down, down, down. He thumbs the button on her jeans.</p><p>"Is this okay?" he asks.</p><p>"Yeah," she breathes, so he unbuttons and pulls her jeans down to her ankles. </p><p>He loves her and she loves him and it could not be clearer in their movements. </p><p>"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks for the last time.</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>And the two move together until the sun comes up and the winter snow starts to fall. </p><p>~</p><p>"The girl's eyes flashed to hers. They were ringed with gold— stunning. Even with the bruises, the girl was alluring. Like wildfire, or a summer storm swept in off the Gulf of Oro. / This girl wasn't like wildfire— she was wildfire. Deadly and uncontrollable. And slightly out of her wits." - Sarah J. Maas, "The Assassin and the Healer"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>okay so yes, this happened, but keep in mind they are adults with complicated lives and it will not be smooth sailing from here. I'd give it one more good chapter before they leave their quiet little realm they've made</p>
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